


Andante, Andante

by crystanagahori



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Classical Music, Classical Music AU, Conductor Kylo, F/M, Modern AU, Not sure if this is a one shot or no, Violinist Rey, but here it is anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-01 03:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17859104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystanagahori/pseuds/crystanagahori
Summary: Ben Solo is a world famous conductor for the Prague Symphony, and he's here in New York to try to not stumble into the past every corner he turns. He runs into Rey in the park, and her music captivates him.





	1. Chapter 1

Ben Solo hated New York.

He hated the noise, hated the way the buildings rose too high, the occasional wind tunnels and hated the fact despite all the rigidity of the city, it was unruly and breathed a life of its own. It was stifling if he stayed too long, and even the nicest of apartments and the highest of penthouses didn’t help.

He much preferred Prague. Prague, the center of classical music, where Mozart was loved and played like a Top 40 pop song. Where Mahler was a titan (pun intended) and Dvořák still meant something. Sure it was darker, and cobblestone streets could be a bitch, but Prague had the music. And the music was where Ben should be.

But not tonight. Tonight, Ben was scheduled to conduct the Julliard Student Orchestra. His mentor Snoke thought it would be a hoot and a half, and while Hux was in the middle of wearing down the Prague Symphony in negotiations, Ben was here. Miserable.

“Holy shit, is that Kylo Ren?”

“No, it can’t be!”

“He’s conducting the orchestra in a week, of course he’s here.”

“Fuck, I heard he once made his first chair oboeist quit music.”

“And his last concert master get a divorce.”

“Well, he’s sexy in a broody kind of way.”

“Did you hear, he’s Leia Organa’s son?”

“The violinist? No fucking way! So he’s…”

“Luke Skywalker’s nephew—“

“Anakin Skywalker’s grandson—“

He was used to that by now. He had to be, growing up with it for the last thirty fucking years. If it wasn’t his mother’s brilliant soloist career until she went and married a fucking actor (Han Solo. You’ve seen his movies), it was his uncle who conducted Beethoven’s 7th so brilliantly that the Queen of England was brought to tears or his grandfather, the most brilliant conductor of all time, burning through the music world like he was Rachmaninoff himself. His passion for music was only matched by his devotion to Ben’s grandmother, the pianist Padme Amidala.

Then, there was Ben. The prodigy. His parents thought it was so “cute” the way their son could play Mozart’s Twinkle Twinkle Little Star in all twelve variations. Ben who carried all of that pressure on his broad shoulders until he thought he was going to snap in two. One overdose of anxiety medication later, he found himself learning under Snoke, leaving everything behind for the Prague Symphony.

“The best way to carry a long shadow is to make it your cloak,” Snoke told him. “Command the music to your will, and nobody will even think to utter the word ‘Skywalker’ or ‘Solo’ when you’re around.

So anyway. New York.

It had happened when he was trying to cut through Central Park to get to Lincoln Center. He didn’t even know what possessed him to go that route—tourists, and all. But then he stopped, because he’d just heard someone playing the violin.

Carmen Fantasy. Composed by Sarasate after the Bizet play in 1882. Whoever this person was, they had managed to turn a seductive bit of music into something fun and playful, crystal clear and bright. This Carmen seduced her Don Jose with coy smiles and light laughter, in the best possible way.

The playing had issues—notes were being passed over like the person didn’t think it necessary, and the vibrato was all over the place. But it had a musical quality to it, like whoever was playing was humming it to themselves.

Ben stopped. Every time the violin played the four notes at the tail end of the line, his heart thumped. He realized he was sweating, so fucking excited by the way this person was playing that…who the hell was this person playing?

“Excuse me, I—“

“Holy shit!” The person exclaimed, and thwacked him on the forehead. With a thousand dollar violin bow.

What the fuck?

“OW.”

“Oh my god! Shit, my strings. Don’t come any closer!”

His attacker and mystery violinist was a girl. A much younger girl, with large amber or hazel or green eyes (he couldn’t tell, he was currently trying not to get a concussion) who was cradling her violin in one hand and threatening him with a bow on the other.

“I wasn’t trying to attack you,” he explained. “I wanted to hear you play.”

“What?”

“Carmen Fantasy. I believe you were in the middle of the second movement.”

The girl was clearly taken aback. She stood straight and blinked at Ben.

“I was,” she said. “Good ear.”

“Good enough to know that your playing is all over the place,” he snorted. “Carmen is a seductress, not a friendly fuck that calls you the next day for coffee.”

The girl’s face burned red. If Ben thought it made her look cute, it was bet to keep that thought to himself.

“How would you know?”

“May I?” He asked, holding his hand out for her violin. She hesitated, and for good reason.

“Here,” Ben said, taking his wallet out of his pocket and handing it to her. “Safe trade.”

“Not exactly, but I so love seeing someone so full of themselves take a tumble.”

She accepted his wallet, and he took the violin. The weight of the instrument felt safe and right in his hand. Almost like. Nah. It can’t be.

“Anyway,” he said, testing the bow on his hand. “Carmen, yes?”

He jumped in to the music, teasing the notes effortlessly from the instrument. Carmen was meant to be playful and musical, but it had a technical demand from its player. It needed high drama, great skill, and leave a little something for the person listening to you.

Speaking of which, the person currently holding his wallet looked at him like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or punch him in the face. He got that look a lot.

He stopped, and she blinked. He held up her violin.

“Like I said,” he told her. ”Seduction.”

The flush on her face told him everything he needed to know about her performance. But what he didn’t expect was for her to walk up to him, place her hands on the sides of his face, and pause.

“May I?” She asked, and her eyes were smouldering.

“But I don’t think seduction would be appropriate, given that I’m playing a fiftieth wedding anniversary at the Boathouse,” she smiled, and Ben’s entire world just fucking lit up. “I’m Rey Niima.”

“Ben Solo,” he said, and it had been so long since he used that name out loud that it felt odd on his lips.

“So what’s a violinist without a violin doing on this side of Central Park?” She asked, tucking the violin under her neck, and waiting.

If Ben ever pulled shit like that in Prague, Snoke would have literally cleaved him in half. And she was holding the Strad. A very familiar looking Strad. If Ben didn’t know any better, he would think that was…

“I’m not a violinist,” was all he said.

“Sure,” she chuckled, getting in to a familiar position. “And I’m…how did you say it?  
a friendly fuck that calls you the next day for coffee.”

Then she just jumped in to the music, and blew Ben’s brains right out of the water. She wasn’t any better technically, but the mood had shifted so drastically that he was sucked in to her playing. Her Carmen was bright and sexy, calling him closer to her.

Jesus Christ, she was a miracle.

“You’re wasted if you’re playing for anniversaries for old people.”

She stopped.

“Greatness isn’t for everyone, maestro.”

His eyebrow rose. He didn’t know if she was teasing, or if she actually knew who he was. He was betting on the former, but with his luck, it was likely the latter.

Rey Niima raised her head, almost as if she knew exactly where she had to be.

“I have to go. My friends are waiting for me,” she said, packing up her violin, and Ben wanted to wrench it from her hands, because, no, she couldn’t go, he had just started to hear her play!

“Wait,” he said, and no, he wasn’t going to stammer. Rey looped her arm through the strap of her case, and clearly didn’t care about waiting. Instead she took Ben’s arm and pulled it down slightly so he was fave to face with her.

“May I?” She asked.

He nodded, and Rey kissed him. Rey kissed like she played—with reckless abandon, throwing herself into the task like there was absolutely nothing to lose, like she had been waiting for this for the longest fucking time and now finally, she was doing it.

Ben kissed her back, wanting to keep her close, because he’d seen into her soul, and he wanted to keep her by his side forever if she let him. He wanted to hear her music. He wanted her.

But Rey cut the kiss short.

“I just wanted to see what that was like,” she breathed. “You’re a good kisser.”

“Uh. Thank you?”

Rey smiled at him and started to walk away. That was when Ben completely lost all semblance of cool and asked.

“I want to see you again,” he said. “I’m…I’m conducting at Lincoln Center tonight. I could get you tickets.”

Rey wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Not my thing,” she shrugged. “But I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Then before he had the chance to protest, or suggest another date, Rey walked away from view. Ben’s phone started to ring, and he already knew that it was Phasma or Hux, asking him why the hell a shortcut was taking too long.

Ben turned off his phone, and followed the direction Rey left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so we're doing this? Haha. I want to thank everyone who commented on this so far, because I guess we're going to pants this whole thing together! *screams*

Ben Solo was not a stalker, okay. So when Rey was within earshot, he called out to her. She waited for him, and he found himself jogging up to her. Jogging is not advisable in Italian lather, shoes by the way. Neither is taking a leisurely stroll in the warm sun. She was a vision in an emerald green dress and heels, her short hair curled around her ears. 

Rey was squinting in the sunlight, but she smiled when he approached.

“See,” she said. “I knew I’d see each other again.”

“You said you’re playing for an anniversary at the boathouse,” he said, unbuttoning another button on his shirt (he noticed she looked at the exposed skin of his throat and the top of his chest). “Got a conductor?”

“I don't need a conductor,” She laughed, but started walking again, which Ben took as a good sign to walk alongside her. “I could use a pianist, though. Do you play piano?”

Did Ben Solo play piano? That was like asking if Beethoven could write a whole symphony while losing his hearing. He could, by the way. Symphony No. 9, one of Ben's favorites when he was feeling particularly good about himself. And that so rarely happened. He couldn't remember the last time he listened to Beethoven's Ninth.

But anyway, piano. Ben was okay at violin, maybe a hair better than Rey when it came to accuracy, but the piano was _his_ instrument. His entire family used to say that. He'd wanted to stop when he got into conducting, some things just had too many memories surrounding it. But Snoke believed that conductors rose from talented musicians, and made sure Ben kept his rigorous training in the piano while he studied conducting. The raps on the backs of his hands and the marks of iron weights on his wrists were enough evidence, if you knew where to look.

So Ben could play. He really could. And for what felt like the first time, he was proud of it.

“Yes.”

“And you can play Carmen?”

He snorted. People _paid_ to seem him play shit like this.

“Yes.”

“Cool,” Rey smiled, and he wondered what it was like to live in a world as seemingly uncomplicated as hers. Then again, the violin was a demanding instrument, anyone who played it had tenacity and passion, the kind that could consume someone who wasn’t ready for it. “So, Lincoln Center. That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“It’s a student orchestra,” he snorted. “The concert master is a bit of a nervous wreck, he kind of starts vibrating whenever he sees me. The first chair oboe thinks she’s God’s gift to mankind and refuses to listen to what I tell her. One of the contrabass players is so tiny he can barely hold up the instrument himself and the second cellist thinks that if I agree to fuck him, I’ll offer him up to Snoke on a silver platter.”

“Sounds dark.”

“He likes to say that the truest of virtuosos would surrender completely to the music and let it consume their entire lives.”

“Yes, but we can’t all be Anakin Skywalker,” Rey pointed out, and of course she knew about that. Anakin Skywalker, so obsessed with music, with interpreting it and creating it that it made him paranoid and borderline schizophrenic, diving deeply into drugs and alcohol until he went out in a blaze of glory, conducting Brahms Symphony No. 1 before he collapsed on stage. His grandmother, Padme had died hours later after singing her last Queen of the Night aria. A broken heart, people said.

A cautionary tale, but Ben chose to see the brilliance of it instead. “Haven’t you heard Rachmaninoff? Beethoven?”

“I’m more partial to Mozart, or even Sibelius if I’m feeling a little more bold. And Beethoven has a lot of, ahem, joyful things too.”

She started to hum 'Ode to Joy' and he smiled, because he got the joke. He very rarely did.

They arrived at the boathouse, where people were starting to gather. Whoever was celebrating their anniversary was having a pretty big shindig, apparently. And it was a perfect day too—a little warm but still pleasant, and a cool breeze drifted by that made the entire scene a little too picturesque.

Even Ben’s childhood memories weren’t this fucking beautiful.

“I really should go back,” he said suddenly. Not because he had to, but because he didn’t belong in happy scenes like that.

“You already agreed, maestro,” she said, and apparently they were sticking to that nickname. “Don’t break a promise.”

“I have experience in broken promises,” he chuckled. He’d grown up on them. And it wasn’t that he was making excuses, it was just something he really had to go through. “A little too much experience.”

“I do too,” she nodded. “So don’t be the guy that breaks my heart,” she poked him in the arm.

“Okay,” he agreed, rubbing the spot.

They walked together, slipping in through the back. The place was full of people coming in and out of the venue, and was a little crowded. Ben wasn’t used to crowds like this, he realized. He was always in and out of venues, shuffled from one place to another like a crucial cog in a well-oiled machine. He was in receptions and galas for a maximum of thirty minutes before he had to practice, or study, or go in for a private session with Snoke.

This, this was nice.

“Don’t get lost, now,” Rey told him, slipping her hand in his, pulling him in through a door. He liked this, their hands clasped, her violin safely on her back as they weaved through one room after the other, on the way to play music.

“I won’t,” he promised, and eventually Ben heard applause and someone saying Rey’s name. He wasn’t sure, it was all a bit of a blur.

Rey stopped. He could see they were about three steps to a makeshift stage, close enough that he could see a bit of the party, but still far enough that they couldn’t see him and Rey in the wings of the makeshift stage. He could see an upright piano on the stage, and wondered just what kind of a fiftieth anniversary is this, to bring in their own upright piano.

She turned to him, and stars were in her eyes. Her eyes were wide, and she was just a tiny bit breathless.

“Hey,” he said, pulling her close. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” she said breezily, and he didn’t know why, but he just…he knew she was nervous. “I don’t like being alone on stage.”

So he kissed her. He pulled her close, and tried to pour everything in to that one kiss. Rey kissed him back, light and sweet, and fuck, this was the kind of girl who kissed boys next door and called them back. But this was also a girl who played Carmen like she was on fucking fire.

“You’re not alone,” he told her. “I’ll be there for you. Play it however you want, Rey.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. Then with all seriousness in her green/gold/amber/his new favorite color eyes, she gasped.

“Spring,” She announced suddenly.

“What?”

“We should play Spring. You know. Vivaldi.”

“Yes, I know Vivaldi, but why—“

“Because,” she gasped, and he loved seeing her mouth slightly plump, as if stung by a bee. He did that. “These are two people that love each other, and it’s their fiftieth, but it’s like a new start. A new spring.”

The violin part of Vivaldi’s Spring was actually one of his favorites as a child. Well. It was _everyone’s_ favorite as a child, and he actually remembered playing the accompaniment on the piano for his mother, when she pretended that she needed the practice, and actually had the time.

He didn’t like that piece much.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Okay. Let’s play.”

Rey unzipped her violin from the bag, cradling it lovingly. Her fingers ran through the wood with a soft, delicate, touch, and Ben wished to God that she was touching him instead.

Except he recognized the Stradivarius in her hands. It was a unique violin, of an equally unique wood, producing the gorgeous silvery tones that Strads were famous for.

And he’d held it in his hands, just a few minutes ago. Vader. His grandfather’s violin.

What the hell was Rey doing with his grandfather’s violin?

Rey was introduced, and he barely heard the small smattering of applause. She walked on to the stage like she was born to do it, a vision of grace and ease in a green dress.

Ben was so confused, so out of sorts that he didn’t realize he was already sitting behind the piano, waiting her a single nod from her to begin. Oh god. This was going to be a very bad Spring, a confused, violent one, and he didn’t know if he could do this.

She smiled, took a deep inhale, and—

“Ben?”

Standing there in the crowd, a vision in a dark blue dress, was Leia Organa, famous solo violinist. His mother. Beside her was the still handsome, still with the shit-eating grin on his face, Han Solo.

“Ben!” He exclaimed. “Glad you could join us, kid. I see you’ve met Rey.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ben Solo couldn’t help it. He stood up and looked at his parents faces. They were older, much older now. But he knew those faces. Knew the heartbreak they caused him.

And it wasn’t really their fault, he knew. They were busy people. They had flourishing careers, and they loved him, in their own way.

 _Do they?_ Snoke’s voice filled his head, and it was accompanied by Mozart’s Requiem. Unfinished, intense and made for mourning. _Because people who love you wouldn’t stop you from doing what you wanted. Stop being weak, Kylo. You don’t need them._

“Ben,” his mother’s voice was soft, and shook just slightly. “You’re here.”

“No, I—“

“I guess the invitation wasn’t lost in the mail,” Han said, already next to Ben behind the piano, kissing his son’s cheek and pressing his shoulder’s like he did before. “Glad to have you here.”

The whole room, which he’d apparently stunned into silence on his entrance, as now starting fill with the low sound of whispering. Sotto voce, soft enough that Ben could only hear snatches of their words.

“…looks just like his grandfather…”

“…abandoned his family…”

“Crashed a car with Han still in it…”

Ben wrestled himself from his father’s grip and stood up, his breathing suddenly heavy. He didn’t expect to be here, he didn’t want to be here.

He looked at his mother’s face, so worried. So hopeful. A part of him hated that he had to break her heart again.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

He bolted.

He ran from the stage, from the boathouse, and ran until he felt the safer, colder concrete outside the park. Back to civilization. It occurred to him midway between his burning lungs and aching feet that it was the first time in ten years that he’d seen his parents. Ten years since Snoke said he had a talent for conducting and offered him training and a management contract.

They looked old, the two of them. Surprised. Sad.

“Ben!” Now it was Rey’s turn to catch up to him, her violin, no his grandfather’s violin strapped to her back. “Why did you run off like that?”

“Did you know?” He practically roared at her. “Was this a part of your plan, to get me to that party?”

“You were the one who accosted my playing,” Rey snapped back. “And you were the one who followed me to the party. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but really, how many Solos are there in the phone book?”

“That violin doesn’t belong to you,” he sniped, because that’s what he did when things got hard. He struck and sniped and destroyed and banged on keys, sawed on violins until blisters formed and his fingers bled. Weakness, Snoke had called it.

“It doesn’t belong to you either,” Rey frowned, taking a stop back like she was actually worried Ben would take Vader form her. “We don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. But Leia and Han will have questions. They may even want to see you.”

“They didn’t want to when I was a child, I don’t see how that will change now,” he raised his hand to hail a taxi. The farther he got from Central Park, the better.

Rey grabbed his hand and pulled it down, just as a taxi slowed down.

“What did you do that for?”

“You are being a little shit!” She exclaimed, poking him in the chest. This was the exact opposite of what she expected her to do, but then again, he didn’t know her very well did, he? If she was, in fact the girl of his dreams, then her connection to his parents only meant one thing.

She wasn’t.

“Your parents invited you to the party! I knew they did, and you didn’t show up, and then just one word from me and you’re like, you’re like…putty in my hands, and—“

Ben kissed her again. Lord he was addicted to kissing her. Ben clutched her, held on to her tight, because Jesus god, he didn’t want to let go. Rey kissed like she didn’t want to let him go either. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, mostly because he couldn’t. So he kissed her instead.

“You kiss like a soft pink Mozart,” He murmured.

“And you’re an asshole,” Rey whispered, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. “At least apologize to your mom? For ruining my big performance? She was really looking forward to it.”

“How do you even know them?” He asked her, as neither of them made a move to leave from the sidewalk.

“Maz adopted me when I was eleven,” Rey explained, and that told Ben everything he needed to know. He would have been twenty one then, fresh from his Dad's crash, hearing for the first time that he was meant to be a conductor, that his family was wrong from telling him he shouldn't. “We didn’t meet. I don’t know why, but Leia put a violin in my hand the first time, and it was like…I was meant to play the violin. All my life I felt like something was missing, and I thought once I got a family, it would change, but...it didn't feel like real happiness until I held that violin. I was horrible at first, of course, but eventually, it felt good. Eventually it felt...”

“Like happiness,” Ben agreed. “I get that.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. When did he last feel that way about music? Sure, he sold out venues and commanded orchestras with a wave of is hand, but was that happiness? It felt like power that only he had, and he wasn't sure if that was the same thing. If anything, he had that to thank his parents for letting him dive headfirst into the music. They'd encouraged him, let him explore. Ben wouldn’t know what to do with himself without music. Even if they drew the line at conducting.

“I’ll go back. I promise.”

Rey's face lit up.

“Later.”

Her face dropped.

“I’m sorry I keep disappointing you,” he said, and he actually felt bad about it. For the asshole who made musicians quit and cry and leave their lovers, he surprisingly cared about how he made her feel.

“It’s better than making promises you can’t keep,” she said, squeezing his wrist.

Then he had a crazy idea. A crazy idea that he should never have asked her, because he knew she was going to say yes. He wanted her to see him.

“I promised you a performance,” he raised his hand again to hail a taxi. “Play a concerto with me.”

* * *

They took a taxi to Lincoln Center, and they were immediately beset by Phasma, his press person, her face in a rage as she practically floated over to him like a spectre.

“Where the bloody hell have you been, you wanker!” Phasma exclaimed, her cheeks flaming red as she approached them. Ben always thought Phasma would have made a great opera singer, with the range of her voice, just in the way she screamed at him. “I’ve been calling and calling! Hux’s brains have practically exploded, that concert master for these children knows nothing, and the performance is tonight! The Mayor is coming, and so is the director for the New York Symphony. I heard their conductor just went into rehab.”

Ben chose to ignore her and breezed past her. He heard Rey vaguely saying hello and he walked the familiar spaces of the hallways to the practice room.

The orchestra had waited for him. As they always did.

“Wow,” Rey gasped behind him, her front bumping softly against his back.

“You!” Hux seethed, immediately getting off of the conductor’s podium to confront him. “Are an hour late. I’ve held down the fort, but this is unacceptable!”

“Well, I’m here now,” Ben was almost bored as he plucked his baton from Hux’s hand. “So go back to your little corner there and watch a real maestro conduct.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Rey whispered to him as they walked to the conductor’s podium. “Is this what you’re really like?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at the sheet music in his hands and frowning. He looked up at the waiting orchestra, and he was right back in his element. The parts of his life that Rey had disrupted, slowly slotted back in its old place, and it felt…cold. It felt like a limb that had broken, and was reset…but in the wrong way.

“I need strings,” he announced. “Hux, you take the piano.”

Hux grumbled something about not being Ben’s bloody secretary, that of course he could play the fucking piano, but sat on the bench behind the grand nonetheless, raising a perfect eyebrow as if to say, ‘well? I’m here.’

“Rey,” Ben turned to her. He wanted to try and play this piece with her, just because he wanted to see what she would do. He had no doubt she knew it, if she was bold enough to suggest they play Spring back at the park. Would she think he was punishing her? He wasn't really. He just wanted to hear her play. He wanted to conduct with her playing the solo.

“Winter.”

She looked taken aback. Vivaldi's Winter didn't seem like her kind of piece, it was fast and complicated, sharp and had very little nuance. When he released his Four Seasons, Vivaldi had sonnets to accompany it, and for the first movement of winter, it spoke of trembling, harsh horrid winds and chattering. It painted a very bleak picture. 

“Really?” She asked. 

“Really.”

“Fine,” Rey seemed just a little bit annoyed at him. He didn't feel too bad about it. But she seemed to decide that she was going to do it, because she brought out Vader, which illicited a couple of gasps in the crowd. Ben felt a little stupid that it took him that long to recognize his grandfather’s violin. He who obsessed over Anakin's legacy, didn't think to look at the piece of it that he had before the madness descended on him. 

“Play just the way you want,” he told her, trying his hardest not to look at the violin. “As I promised.”

Now she looked incredibly annoyed at the way he said that. Ben didn’t understand that. She should be happy. She should be almost _grateful_ , a street side performer, getting a chance to play with an orchestra and a world-class conductor was almost unheard of in these circles.

“Catch up with me if you can,” Rey huffed, putting the violin under her chin, ready.

Ben made a motion for the strings to stand in attention. Bows lifted, and the room fell completely silent.

They started. The first few notes of Vivaldi’s Winter was gently building, supposedly played in allegro non molto. But Rey had apparently decided that this wasn’t good enough for her, and he could practically feel the intensity oozing from her music, her body still as her bow cut into her string. Vader was known for its silvery tone, but Rey made that tone strong, biting and cold.

Well, he did promise he would catch up to her.

The intensity built, and they were about three counts away from Rey’s solo, a sweeping movement that most violinists still tempered, knowing what would come later.

But not Rey. She jumped into the notes like a freezing cold wind had blown through her, and when it came to the end of her line, pulled the bow and did a little motion that made the violin just _sing._

God, she was amazing.

She did it again, this time, she was definitely pulling a shaky vibrato from that last note, and Ben loved it. Rey was fury and snow and ice, and Ben was the one carrying her through it. Her eyes were closed, like there was no orchestra, there was nothing else. Just her and Vivaldi, with the speed that only she could make. But even with Rey’s intensity, she managed to vary the volume of the sound so that it flowed and danced. There was nothing playful about her.

Jesus. Who taught her how to play like this? Certainly not his mother.

She smiled as they neared the end of the first movement, and Ben got hold of himself fast enough to follow her into the last few bars of the piece.

She pulled that last note and smiled, and the entire room was stunned into silence. Ben was never going to forget this. For the rest of his life, this was how he wanted to hear this piece, and no critic would ever be able to tell him otherwise.

“Who taught you how to play like that?” Ben asked, and he was shocked to find that he was a little breathless, like he had been the one to play. “ _Why_ would you play it like that?”

“Because I play for myself,” she told him, not looking him in the eye as she said that. She was practically whipping her bow at him, like she wanted him to keep his distance.

She’d seen what he was really like, and she didn’t want it. She’d probably heard all of his parents horror stories about him, how he was moody and silent, how he never seemed to stop being angry, and she wanted no part of it. That icy winter was for him, apparently.

“What do you play for?” Rey asked him, finally looking at him square in the eye. Ben was flabbergasted.

“I…”

“Why am I not hearing tragic overtures Brahm’s Symphony No.1?”

Everyone knew that voice. Hell, Ben knew that voice, and it made his skin crawl every time. No matter what Andrew Snoke did, it scared the fucking hell out of him, and it had been ten years since he became his protege.

He stepped in to the room and cast one glance at Rey. Ben felt his heart stop in his chest, and for some reason, all he could think was, _no, you can’t take her._

“And who might you be?” he asked. Ben opened his mouth to speak.

But Rey, who had gone pale, was much faster. She took the violin, the case and ran to Ben, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the auditorium before anyone could blink. That she was carrying most of their belongings herself was no easy feat, but damn, Ben’s shoes were going to fucking kill him.

They made it out of Lincoln Center, to the fountains, to relative normalcy when Rey stopped running.

“Where to now?” She asked him.

“My place,” he said. Then it was his turn to lead her away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't know what I'm doing here, folks. Haha. But if you want to see/hear what I imagine Rey sounded like, here' s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7IuNV-5kns
> 
> OH. And if any of you guys are on tumblr, my name there is crystanagahori as well. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter, and it's going to be a smutty one! Like I said, I had no idea where I was going with this, but I think we can comfortably end this at the next chapter? 
> 
> Song here is Philosophize In It! Chemichalize With It! by Kishi Bashi. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr, if that's your thing! :D My name there is crystanagahori as well!

Rey Niima was a force to be reckoned with. And Ben loved kissing her.

He hated to be a cliche (even if the mere existence of him was basically ‘angsty oretty eyes boy’), but he and Rey stumbled into his hotel room, their mouth pressed together and already in the middle of their movement.

Rey ser her violin down slowly, gently by his luggage, already slipping out of her shoes. Ben discovered a spot on her neck that made her laugh, found that a sloppy, wet kiss on the base of her throat made her moan.

“I want you,” he murmured into her skin as her back pressed against him, her warm milky skin in his hands. Ben put his hands on her waist and crushed the green fabric of her dress with his hands. He lifted her skirt, seeking the skin underneath the dress. His fingers traced the seam of her underwear, and Ben was so close that he could feel the heat building between her legs.

“You may have me,” Rey’s voice was almost regal as she leaned her head back against his chest, bracing herself on his arms as Ben slid a finger inside her. Rey’s body arched and bent where he led her, moving, twisting deliciously against Ben, her breaths and gasps a delicate song he could keep playing again and again and again.

Rey’s hands dug into his arms, and every muscle in her body looked like it was taut firm, and she keened. Ben kept his fingers at a steady pace, riding out her orgasm.

She pressed against his front and rubbed her ass against his hardening cock. Fuck.

“Unzip me.”

The next thing Ben knew, they were on the bed, her caged between his arms, her impossible eyes turning dark as she seemed to drink him in.  
Ben twisted a finger in her hair.

“Tell me you’re real,” he said, looking into her unreal eyes because he needed this to be real. He couldn’t believe all of this was happening, was still happening. That this amazing violinist could look at him and see...him. Whoever that meant now.

“I’m real. And so are you,” she assured him.

His cock was full and nearly throbbing now, but he managed to hold on long enough to put on a condom (gloves on for the performance, maestro) before he buried his cock inside Rey and found home. She met his thrusts with her own, the two of them moving frantically, rushing, building to the crescendo. Ben could hear nothing but her gasps and moans and cries, feel nothing but her sweet cunt wrapped around his cock, her hands burning his skin.

He wondered if Rey could hear symphonies.

* * *

 

They lay in bed together, Ben’s arms loosely wrapped around Rey as her placed her head on his chest, neither of them speaking as she played the love theme from Cinema Paradiso on his speakers. As the violin played the solo, Rey idly lifted her hand and began to conduct her invisible symphony, pulling sweetness and love from the sounds.

Her eyes were still closed, but he could almost picture what she was picturing—this was a song that moved people, that melted hearts, that made them sing. And Rey imagined herself being the one to bring it out.

“Have you ever thought of conducting?” Ben asked her.

“Yes,” she replied, with no hesitation or worry. “One day. I used to watch the Proms when I lived in London, and I loved watching the conductors, observed their styles. How some would be gentle, coaxing the music out form their orchestras, others would be more firm.”

Her hand was delicate and soft, matching the song as she turned it over, ending the piece with a soft whisper.

“You demand perfection from your players every time with the sheer force of your presence on stage. They’re almost terrified of displeasing you.”

Ben winced. He knew that, on some level, of course. He was Ben-fucking-Solo, after all.

“Are you terrified of me?” He asked.

“I was terrified of the Ben Solo in those posters. The Ben that everyone around you thinks you are,” she said, and he could tell that she was choosing her words very carefully. “I like the Ben I met in the park. This Ben.”

“They’re the same person, Rey,” he said gruffly, sitting up to run a hand through his hair, turning off the music. He didn’t want a soundtrack to this. “You can’t have just a part of me.”

“I know,” she said, her brows furrowing. Great. He’d made her annoyed. “I know that.”

“This wasn’t how I thought today was going to go,” he said, slipping out of his bed completely now, looking around for his boxers, checking the time, thinking if he should turn on his phone. because the world didn’t stop rotating when he was with Rey. There were going to be consequences to what he did, and he wasn’t ready to face it all yet. “The longer I’m with you, Rey, the more I wonder where the hell I’ve been this entire time.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Rey said, finally sitting up. “Where have you been, Ben?”

It was an easy enough question, but he wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. That he was in a bad place? It was hard to call where he’d been a ‘bad place’, not with the success he’d had, with the awards he’d gotten, the profiles, interviews, fame, fortune. Hell, that bad place led him to where he was now, in front of Rey.

But he couldn’t deny that going back to Lincoln Center held absolutely no appeal to him at the moment. He had no desire to hear Snoke’s lectures, no desire to punish himself for a less than perfect performance.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, sighing. “Don’t try to fix me. It’s only been half a day.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” Re scoffed, rolling her eyes as she got out of bed herself, putting on her clothes much faster than he was. “If you feel like there’s something wrong with the way you live your life, *you* fix it. I like spending time with you, Ben. That’s all.”

Rey looked at him, and even in the dim lighting of the room, he could see that steely determination she had, the same one she wore whenever she was about to play. Then she turned her head like he wasn’t there at all.

“We should eat,” she said. “I know a place.”

* * *

 

The place Rey referred to was a bar. He didn’t know what kind of bar was this full at one in the afternoon, but there they were, sitting in a tall table and high chairs with a basket of fries and onion rings and burgers and drinks while everyone else seemed really really excited for whatever was about to happen upstage.

They were both quiet, neither of them could say anything beyond their food orders at the moment. Ben wasn’t sure what was going on in her head, but he wanted to hold her hand and apologize, make things okay again. He wanted to make them okay again. Because when they were, then he felt like he could see clearly.

Right now, his world was muddled again in phone calls that he was missing, rehearsals he was skipping and a performance in about seven hours that he wasn’t planning on going to.

*I like spending time with you, Ben. That’s all.*

“Rey!” a voice exclaimed, and Rey’s face lit up at the sight of…

“I know you,” Ben announced, glaring at Finn, who blinked at Ben like he’d just seen a ghost. “You play the timpani. You used to play for the Czech Phil.”

“Until you told me to go fuck myself and quit,” Finn narrowed his eyes at Ben. Beside him, he could have sworn he saw Rey snicker.

“Did you?” Ben asked.

The guy looked completely affronted. Ben should care more, really. If he had any plans of seeing this this thing with Rey through past a single day, he should care more. But…did Rey want that? Did he even deserve that?

“No,” Finn huffed. “I didn’t. Seriously, Rey, you’re seeing this guy?”

“I see him as clearly as I see you,” Rey shrugged, and Ben had no idea what to make of that. He took a bit of his fries instead. “Now go on. I’m sure the guys are waiting for you.”

“They actually asked me if you wanted to perform with us. We could always use a violin.”

Rey glanced at Ben, who said nothing. Far be it from him to tell her what to do. And who was he to say no to another opportunity to see Rey play? Even if it was…whatever this was going to be.

“Be right back,” she said, hopping off the stool and squeezing Ben’s arm so quickly that he almost missed it. She followed Finn presumably backstage. Even with the number of people inside he clearly heard him say “are you fucking kidding me, Rey?” as they disappeared in the crowd.

Ben frowned down at his food. He was starting to wonder why Rey was putting up with him, with all of this. He couldn’t give her more than today, because tomorrow, he was going to face the consequences of whatever it was Snoke wanted of him and keep his head down again. Bury himself in routine and guilt and practice and huge performances.

If you could call them performances anymore.

The crowd cheered, pulling Ben out of his thoughts. On the small stage up front, he recognized Poe Dameron, one of the kids from his old neighborhood in Chandrila standing behind the microphone. He gave the crowd his signature smile, flipping his curls. It made sense—Rey was Maz’s kid now, she would have met Poe.

Ben wondered for a brief moment what it would have been like if he had stayed at home. Would he have liked Rey then? Would he still be friends with Poe? Would he be standing on that stage with—the Rebels, what a bad band name—right now?

But there was no time to keep wondering, because they were performing. Rey and Vader fit on that stage like they were born to perform. She smiled shyly at the crowd, and when her eyes swept across the room, Ben knew to hold his hand up and wave.

Her smile was impossibly wider now.

“Hey, since we got our rogue violinist back,” Poe said,”We can play an oldie but a goodie. Finn?”

He turned to Finn behind the drums and he counted out.

Rey was standing in front of a loop machine, that, and a complicated set of other things that Ben wished he could get his hands on. He’d never been one to experiment with music outside the classical realm—he wasn’t really…allowed to. The last time he suggested to Snoke that he conduct anything gravitating towards Ravel, his mentor just glared at him until he quit and changed tack.

But this? This was no Ravel.

Rey played a few measures, then stepped on the pedal. She repeated this over and over until the next thing Ben knew, the violin was bursting sounds of joy and happiness, and filling the entire venue. Ben had never heard Vader so…happy.

Poe sang the first line, and Finn jumped in with the drums, the three of them seemed to have as much fun as the rest of the crowd, playing the song. Rey was made to pluck and strum Vader, and Ben resisted the urge to wince. Jesus, she was doing that to a *Strad*.

But nobody int eh crowd cared, not when they seemed to enjoy themselves completely in the music, the Rebels throwing themselves headlong into the song.

There was a break, and the music slowed. Rey played a sweet solo, still accompanied by the vocals she’d recorded just moments before. Poe followed her on the guitar, then Finn joined in, and the riot started again.

It was beautiful.

She came down from the stage when the song ended, in bursts of cheers and applause. She looked at Ben, and she couldn’t help it. He kissed her again. He never could seem to help himself when he was around her.

“I know what I have to do,” he said do her, squeezing her hand. “Should we get out of here?”

She smiled and nodded.


End file.
